


If I want you, I gotta have that

by mediaville



Series: Sexbot [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Doppelganger, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Sexbots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediaville/pseuds/mediaville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just that Harry's had plenty of time to get comfortable with what he wants. Harry's had time to play around with a million versions of Louis, not to mention all of the actual real people he's fucked. Louis just needs a little time to get used to it himself.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/899635">Just let me try and I will be good to you</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I want you, I gotta have that

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [eleadore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/pseuds/eleadore) for the tough love, and to [checkthemargins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/pseuds/checkthemargins) for continued patience and Louis.

It's wearing Louis's full footy kit tonight, hair shaggy and damp, chin sporting a light fuzz. There's a smile in its voice as it natters on about unfair penalties and boasts about its assist. Louis rolls his eyes. He keeps his eyes down, focused on his communicator, but every so often has to snort at Harry’s attempts at sport-related dialogue.

“...it was brilliant,” a simulation of his own voice says. It doesn't shock Louis anymore, not after the weeks he's spent in its presence, but it's still creepy as fuck.

“ _You’re_ brilliant,” Harry says. Louis sucks his lip in between his teeth to keep from scoffing aloud. Harry always thinks everything Louis does is wonderful, even when he ends up on his arse for three of the four minutes he actually makes it onto the pitch.

“And you’re easy,” footy-Louis says teasingly, and Louis looks up, instinctively ready to agree but then he swallows it all down, jaw clenching when he realizes how predictable he is. How well Harry has replicated him, down to his thoughts.

"Not easy," Harry says, flirty. "I'm just a fan."

Louis shakes his head ever so slightly. Harry's bloody ridiculous. His shoulders tense when it laughs at Harry with Louis's voice. "A real fan would be wearing my number, love.”

When Louis flicks his eyes up next, the bot is shirtless and Louis can't look away, frowning as he notes the changes that Harry’s made. He's too tanned. Too fit. Looks at Harry like—like Harry _belongs_ to him and he's too fucking smug about it. He, bugger it all, _it_ sounds too much like Louis when it says, "That's it."

The way Louis's football shirt hangs loosely around Harry's shoulders and waist is all wrong. Louis's actual shirt would pull tight and short on Harry's longer, broader body. None of this is real, Louis reminds himself. It's just a harmless fantasy. There's no reason it should bother Louis when Harry lets it (fuck, _makes_ it) rough him about, push him up against the wall and pin him there with hard hands and brutal kisses. Louis shouldn't care when it sucks lovebites into Harry’s skin, murmurs in Harry’s ear and wanks him with quick, vicious pulls that make Harry jerk and brace himself, fingers slipping against the flat surface behind him.

He’s not jealous, not really. It’s just, Harry’s his mate, his best mate, and they still spend loads of time together but when Harry’s messing about with that bot, it’s—different. It’s probably only bothering Louis because he doesn’t really—well of course he jacks off like any other bloke but he doesn’t really fuck around or anything. Doesn’t really have anyone else he’d rather be spending time with, or. Kissing or whatever. He’s always had his mates to muck about with and have a laugh, and that's kept him busy enough. He hasn’t really needed anything else.

Apparently it’s not been the same for Harry.

Louis watches them intently even though he shouldn't, his hands clenched together. He's staring, straining to hear the words panted against Harry's throat. He catches snippets here and there, whispers and noises that get him hard. Harry's cheeks are flushed and hectic, his mouth dark and slack and he looks _wrecked_. His whole body tenses with every pull on his cock, long fingers flying up to clutch desperately at the too-smooth, too-strong arms caging him in. Louis makes himself look away when Harry gets close, eyes drooping in that telltale way of his, stomach muscles clenching up tight. Still, it’s impossible to ignore the bitten off sounds that Harry makes when he comes. It's impossible to un-know this side of Harry, now.

When Harry’s done, all damp-skinned and breathless, Louis’s dick is swollen tight, tenting out the leg of his trackies. He breathes steadily, tries to get himself under control, adjusting himself while Harry putters around in the bathroom.

They don't talk about it. Louis doesn't even let himself think about it until he's lying in bed alone, replaying in his mind how perfectly Harry had re-created his kit, how every detail had been exactly the same as the day he'd played in Glasgow, Harry cheering him on from the sidelines. He remembers Harry that day, bright blue beanie pulled down over his curls, mouth split wide in a happy smile. Or at least he'd seemed happy. Maybe Louis just hadn't been paying enough attention. Maybe Harry had wanted something else to happen that day, like a rushed, rough handjob rather than a laddy fist bump. Maybe he'd been disappointed. Maybe Louis hadn't even noticed.

All he sees when he closes his eyes is his name spelled out across Harry’s back in bold black lettering and Harry’s lazy, sated smile.

 

“So you’d wanted a snog then, that day on the pitch?” Louis blurts out when he's alone with Harry in the lift after dinner the next night. He fiddles around with his wristband, keeping his eyes down.

“Probably," Harry shrugs before scrunching his eyebrows into a puzzled frown and looking up at Louis. "What are you on about?"

“Your frisky footballer,” Louis says even though it clearly reveals how stupidly fixated he’s been on some dumb fantasy of Harry's that probably didn't even mean anything. "From last night."

“Ah,” Harry says, blushing like he has any right to, like there’s even a drop of shame left in him. He bites his lip on a smile and nods. "Yes, then. Definitely."

Louis shakes his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Insatiable," he mutters, even as his stomach flips with the knowledge. Harry’s never kept his feelings a secret, probably couldn’t to save his life, but it feels different now. Louis knows what Harry’s like with a crush; he’d been the center of Harry’s attention for a long while and it had made their friendship stand out, easily the most important relationship in Louis’s life. Maybe, fuck, maybe Louis would have gotten there eventually, but now it’s too late. Now it’s this lookalike bot that puts that dopey smile on Harry’s face. Any satisfaction that Louis might get from being the basis for Harry's fantasy is lost when he starts to notice the changes, the tweaks that—no matter how tiny—remind him that Harry wants someone different.

"You can't be surprised," Harry says with a grin, knocking Louis's shoulder.

"Well I'm not _anymore_." He tries to sound exasperated but his cheeks are hot. Louis can’t help the thrill he feels at the reminder that Harry had wanted _him_ like that back then, just as he was. "Just didn't realize how long you’d had that particular problem."

That makes Harry duck his head, sheepish.

"Since puberty, I reckon," Louis says lightly before Harry can say anything that might trigger that annoying ache in his chest that he’s been feeling around him lately. He’s always so bloody earnest.

It’s quiet between them for a long moment. Louis can feel Harry watching him.

"Since the day I met you," Harry says eventually. His voice is slow and amused. Fond.

Louis shrugs one shoulder, not meeting Harry's eyes. He knows his cheeks and ears have gone pink and he knows Harry can tell. He huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. He's the one who'd brought it up, after all. He can't fault Harry for flirting. Maybe he's flirting, too. 

Harry laughs softly and Louis looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “You're blushing," Harry says, tilting his head. "Are you embarrassed?”

“Since the day I met you,” Louis offers lamely.

Harry nods, still smiling. His eyes are soft when he says, “You love me.”

"Not as much as you love me," Louis says before thinking better of it. He's not even certain whether that's true or not. "In my footy kit, anyway."

Harry grins, cheeks dimpling. “I love you out of your footy kit as well,” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows. 

Louis’s stomach does a funny cartwheel. He swallows down the dryness in his throat. “That's already been established,” he says, forcing an easy tone. He's saved by the bell when the lift doors open. "Night, mate," he says casually, stepping out into the corridor and hurrying towards his room.

"You love me," Harry calls, and Louis holds up two fingers over his shoulder.

 

At half eleven Louis knocks on Harry's door. 

"Now who's insatiable?" Harry says with a smile after he pulls the door open, gesturing for Louis to come inside. He's not wearing a shirt, all long, pale body, soft around the waist.

Louis clears his throat and shakes him off, staying in the corridor. “Look,” he says, “I know this is weird but I wanted—” He exhales slowly and and holds his hand out, offering the carefully folded fabric to Harry. "I mean, uh, here, you can." He hates feeling this bloody flustered around Harry now. “If you want. You can have this."

It’s not like he needs the shirt anyway. It’s not like he can stop thinking about Harry wearing it. It’s not like he can get over how _claimed_ Harry had looked when he'd worn it with the bot. Maybe it makes him a shit person but he doesn’t want Harry to belong to anyone else, real or imagined.

Harry holds the shirt up, eyes widening in recognition. He looks shaken, and all of a sudden what had seemed a decently sentimental gesture feels more like he's brought Harry some sort of _prop_ for his wank sessions, like he's gifting Harry his freshly-worn pants or something. “I washed it,” he stutters, then shakes his head to clear it. “I wanted you to have it. So, like,” he looks up at the ceiling, struggling for words. “You don’t have to pretend that part.”

Harry clears his throat. His knuckles are white, fists clenched around the material. "Cheers," he says hoarsely after a long moment. 

That's that, then. Louis nods and takes a step back, tips his head towards his room, a few doors down. It feels loaded between them, tense, like something else should happen, but nothing does, and he has no excuse to stand there any longer. "'Night," he says simply, and tucks his hands into his pockets so that Harry won’t see them shaking as he walks away.

He keys into his room spitting out a string of curses and lets his head thunk back against the door. Not a minute passes before there's an echoing knock on the outside of his door.

Louis startles, smacking the door sensor as he turns around. The door swishes open and Harry stands there, flushed and fidgeting.

"I'm gonna—" Harry starts to babble, then steps in quickly, hitting the sensor so that the door closes behind him, sealing them in the privacy of Louis's room. "You—god, Louis," he mumbles as he crowds up against Louis, tipping their foreheads together.

He can feel Harry's breath on his lips, and bugger it all but he wants more, wants Harry even closer. "All right?" he whispers stupidly, eyes falling to Harry's mouth.

Harry makes a strange, desperate sound and closes his eyes. “I want to kiss you." Something surges inside of Louis, a delicious, nervous thrill. He licks his lips, nods his head against Harry’s, but Harry doesn't move to kiss him, just hunches down, pressing his face to Louis’s shoulder. “If I’m being honest,” he says shakily, long fingers clutching at Louis’s shirt, “I want you to kiss me.”

Louis sucks in a breath, belly clenching up tight. He slips a hand into Harry’s hair, holds him. Harry’s so open with him, so unguarded. Louis sticks all the fear of not being good enough because for fuck’s sake, kissing he can do. “'Kay,” Louis whispers, nudging at him, trying to get him to tip his face up. 

“No, that's not even it,” Harry says quietly. “I want you to _want_ to kiss me. Even half as much as I—”

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, then shuts Harry up with a soft, lingering kiss. 

It’s just one kiss, in the same way that tumbling off of a cliff only requires putting one foot forward. Louis tries to stay focused on the mechanics of the kiss, thinks of all of the ways he's seen Harry kiss that sodding bot so he'll do it just how Harry likes it, but it all blurs together and he can’t hold the thread. Harry’s mouth is hot and plush, too easy to fall into, and Louis loves him. Louis _loves_ him.

"S'it okay?" Harry breathes in between kisses, and Louis's brain stutters. A quick calculation goes something like, _feels good, is good_ and he nods, tugging Harry back in for more.

Harry kisses him sweetly, almost shyly, and the more tentative Harry is the more nervous Louis gets. There’s no reason for Harry to be uncertain, he’s snogged some made-up version of Louis at least a hundred times. Nothing about this is new for Harry, but Louis's head is spinning. The few chaste kisses he's traded with Harry over the past few weeks have been nothing like this, just clumsy reassurances without any real intent. But now, tonight, Harry's mouth is soft and his body is warm and he's pressed against Louis and it feels like—it feels like more than that. It feels like something big and uncontrollable and Louis is absolutely bloody terrified.

He doesn't stop, can't stop, but fuck it all he can't keep going either. He tries to keep it manageable, but can't help moaning when Harry's tongue dips in between his lips. Next thing he knows he's drawing it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic sucks. The implication makes him flush hot and scared but he doesn’t stop, helpless to it. Harry's the one who eventually pulls back, pulls away, breathing hard and whispering, “Oh.”

Louis flinches, because it sounds like, _oh, so that's how a snog with the real you goes_ , a little confused and probably disappointed. “All right?” Louis asks again breathlessly, heart in his teeth.

Harry’s eyes are closed and his mouth is obscenely red, lips puffy from kissing. He looks gorgeous like this, should look this way for him always. Harry nods, mutters, “Yeah, yes. Brilliant. Only,” he bites his lip and hesitates, likely trying to figure out how to let Louis down easily. “Could we sit down, possibly? You’re making me all wobbly in the knees.”

Louis's eyes go wide even as his gut unclenches with relief. He's not fucked it up too badly, then. Harry wants to keep—doing whatever this is that they're doing. “Yeah, ‘course,” Louis says, tugging Harry over to the sofa, which turns out to be massively awkward. "Sorry," Louis says, feeling like a complete twat. "This is," he turns towards Harry and puts his arm out along the back of the sofa, “Do you want to come over here?”

He's such a knobhead, feels like he’s back at school, trying to feel up a girl in the cinema when it’s completely obvious that he has zero moves. Harry’s definitely never fantasized about _this_.

Harry smiles at him anyway, this sweet, private smile that makes Louis's belly flutter. He shifts closer, and the way he twists his body so that he’s facing Louis, pressed up close, is familiar, something Harry does every day, just now in a new context. Louis brings one hand up without thinking, touches his fingers to the side of Harry’s throat. Harry tilts his head into the touch, turning his face to nuzzle at Louis’s wrist. “Hi,” Harry says softly.

Louis swallows thickly, eyes dropping to Harry's mouth. Harry's mouth, flushed and spit-slick and smiling at him so prettily. “Hi,” he breathes and suddenly it doesn’t feel awkward at all to lean in and nudge their lips together. 

Harry goes slow, lets Louis kiss him, tip his face this way and that, taste his mouth. He makes sweet little noises when Louis sucks at his bottom lip, kisses high up on his cheeks, noses at the hinge of his jaw. Everything about him is addictive, his sleepy-warm smell, his plush mouth. Louis tries to keep track, wants to make it good for Harry, but it’s so fucking good for _him_ that he can’t keep it deliberate, ends up chasing the feeling blindly.

It’s not until Harry pulls away and noses at his face, whispering, “Yeah, lie back,” that Louis even recognizes how he’s been leaning, that he feels the strain in his abs from holding himself upright as he pulls Harry towards him.

Harry lets his weight settle, pressing Louis down into the cushions with one thigh slid between Louis’s legs. Louis is frighteningly turned on, dick swollen and sensitive, obvious in his trousers. Every time Harry shifts his leg it makes Louis gasp, pull his mouth away and clutch frantically at Harry’s shoulders.

"S'good, right?" Harry breathes into Louis's mouth, hips nudging in slow, tight circles. It is good, but it's too good. Louis feels sickly-hot, grips Harry's waist hard to try to stop the free-fall even as he groans and presses his open mouth to Harry’s throat, desperate for something, anything.

"Can feel how hard you are," Harry whispers, pressing their hips closer together. His voice cracks as he rubs up against Louis, his cock a warm, stiff weight against Louis’s thigh. "Makes me a bit crazy," he says quietly, like he’s trying not to spook Louis. “But we can just, like, kiss a little. As long as it feels good.”

Louis pulls back, rests his forehead on Harry's shoulder, tries to calm himself down. Breathes. "It's good," he says dumbly. It’s more than that, though. “You’re—” he stutters, searching for the right word. He opens his eyes, sees the fine sheen of sweat that’s gathered on Harry’s skin, thinks crazily that he wants it on his tongue. Harry reaches for him, hands in his hair, pulling him closer again. Louis can't _think_. He touches a finger to a bright red mark on Harry’s throat, feeling wildly possessive. “Fuck’s sake, you’re so _lovely_ ,” he blurts out.

It’s not his smoothest line. Surely Harry's heard better from footy-Louis or surfer-Louis or whatever, but it’s enough to surprise Harry into choking on a breath, enough to make Harry grab him and kiss him soundly until Louis melts back into the sofa. "You too," Harry mumbles against Louis's mouth. "You're perfect." 

He's not. Perfect is what Harry makes of him, giving the bot an easy confidence that Louis doesn't have. But then Harry shifts his weight and grinds down against Louis, knocking him into the cushions and it's enough to make Louis believe that Harry wants him, imperfect as he is, even if it's just in this moment. 

Harry looks impossibly huge above him, strong arms flexed, long body pinning Louis down. His hair hangs down into his face, swaying as he rocks into Louis. It's too easy to imagine Harry fucking him like this, tall and strong over him in bed, hips working in quick, rough thrusts.

Panic sizzles through him. That's not—he's never done that before, never done anything like this with a bloke before, but now even the idea of it, the stretch in his thighs and Harry jostling him as he ruts, makes Louis feel like he might come too quickly. He tries to calm down but he can't, not with how Harry's making him feel like a teenaged virgin, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself. He needs a second. A chance to catch his breath.

Harry dips down to nose at Louis's throat. He's moving faster now, cock sliding wickedly against Louis's through their pants. “I—don’t freak out, but, I could come like this," Harry whispers, mouth pressed wetly against Louis’s temple. It makes Louis's dick flex suddenly, makes it ache from going so stiff, so fast, skin pulled tight. He digs his fingers into Harry’s skin hard, hips jolting as Harry rocks down on him. “I could, just from kissing you, don’t even have to touch me,” Harry babbles, cheeks gone a gorgeous, hectic shade of pink. 

Louis closes his eyes and bites his lip, has to, to keep himself from letting it slip that he wants that, wants Harry to come, to feel good, to cover him with it.

"S'that okay?" Harry whispers, sounding urgent. His cock rubs relentlessly against Louis's, fat heads bumping together before giving way to agonizing friction. "Want me to stop? Or—?" 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut tighter and thinks yes, they probably should, but what comes out of his mouth is, "Please, don't. Don't stop." He's helpless to how good it feels, how much he wants to come and to make Harry come, and to _see_ it, fucking hell. Harry slumps down, tucking his face into Louis's neck and slipping both hands under Louis's bum. He lifts up, hauling Louis in, forcing his knees up and open wide. Louis lets Harry jostle him around and loves it, slides his hands up to circle Harry's neck, clinging there while Harry breathes hotly into his hair and ruts down against him.

It feels incredible, and the weight of Harry pressing him down mixed with the awareness that the delicious rub against his dick is _another dick_ , a hard dick, _Harry's_ hard dick, makes Louis lose himself a little. He's never thought so much about cock, not even his own, before he'd first seen glimpses of Harry's, all fat and big and hanging heavy between his legs. Now he can't stop thinking about it, all the time, every time he's sat next to Harry for a meal, or passes him on the way to the gym, or they change for a show. He doesn't let himself look when Harry gets off with the bot, but he sees anyway, pulse pounding as he wonders what it would feel like rubbing against him, in his mouth, in his hands. It's better than he'd imagined and he can barely stand it, feels more desperate than ever. He can't keep quiet, each punch of Harry's hips knocking a weak moan out of him, the shame of it sizzling through him to make it all even hotter. 

"You feel so _good_ ," Harry groans, curling his fingers into Louis's arsecheeks. His big hands are everywhere, fingertips slipping down, down and in, forcing an embarrassing noise out of Louis. "You're so—god, yeah, let me hear you."

Louis's face burns. He arches up, tries to stop Harry's babbling with a kiss but Harry's too far gone, can barely slide their mouths together as he fucks, jostling Louis up the sofa with every thrust. When Harry slips one hand up under Louis's knee and hoists it up so that Louis's legs are wrapped around Harry's waist, Louis whines, cripplingly aware of how good Harry's dick feels pressed up against his arse.

There was a cliff, Louis thinks hazily. It was a kiss, seconds ago. Their first proper kiss, really, the first one Louis has let himself have and that was possibly a shit decision because now he can't stop thinking about Harry bumfucking him and it’s all making him _insane_. This is the view from the ravine he's fallen into.

"Oh god," Harry whines, brow creasing like it hurts. "So good," he breathes, humping against Louis frantically. He grabs Louis's arse harder and _pulls_ , spreading him open and Louis chokes, arousal stabbing through him violently. 

"What the fuck," Louis gasps, eyes closing as he starts to come, too soon, too hard, too good. "Christ." 

His whole body seizes up as his dick flexes and shoots, thick blurts of come slicking up his briefs as Harry fucks against him faster and faster. Each wave of it bowls him over, punches weak whimpers out of him until he's so humiliated he bites his lip to shut himself up. He breathes out shakily into Harry's neck, presses his nose high up on Harry's jaw and hopes that somehow Harry hasn't noticed.

"Oh shit," Harry breathes, stunned. "Did you just come?"

Bollocks. 

"I—sorry, yeah," Louis says, blushing to the tips of his ears, but then Harry is lifting up and slipping a hand in between Louis's legs to grope at his sensitive prick, feeling at the damp fabric. Louis sucks in a trembling breath, eyes fluttering shut.

"So fucking hot," Harry says breathlessly. "God, I want—" he groans as he shoves his hand into his pants and desperately fists his own dick. 

Louis watches, can't look away as Harry strokes himself off, all taut muscle and strained expression and beautiful, flushed mouth. He wants to tug Harry's pants down, wants to watch for real this time, but he can't breathe, let alone move and Harry's so bloody gorgeous, sweat-damp and frantic, drugged with sex. He keeps one hand on Louis's softening cock, squeezing it in a jerky, uncoordinated rhythm and then slipping down lower, cupping Louis's balls and rubbing two fingers behind them, almost, almost— "I want everything, christ," Harry pants, muscles tense and shaking. "Louis." He holds his breath, nostrils flaring as he comes into the cup of his palm with a pained grunt. 

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Harry’s collapsed half on top of him, panting in his ear and all Louis can think about is Harry’s hand between his legs and the gush of come in his own shorts. Harry had wanted to touch him, is going to want that again, and Louis, fuck. He’d been so overwhelmed from just kissing that he’d bloody creamed himself.

And what’s he meant to do now? The bot usually disappears after Harry comes, but Louis doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want Harry to either.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs, lips buzzing against Louis’s skin.

Louis sputters out a surprised laugh. “So polite,” he says, tilting his head as Harry nuzzles closer.

“Mm,” Harry hums, snuggling into him, and this, okay. This Louis knows how to do, although none of their past cuddles have involved hands sticky with come, or naked bits touching. He pushes those thoughts away and takes a deep breath, curls an arm around Harry’s back and pulls him in anyway. The fabric of Harry’s t-shirt is damp between his shoulders. “Lou?” Harry’s breath is warm on his chest. “Can I stay?”

He just means for the night, but Louis wants to keep him for longer. “I don't know," Louis says seriously. "Can you?”

Harry snuffles a laugh into his skin. "You're such a knobhead. _May_ I stay over?" 

"Not if you're going to keep calling me names," Louis says, primly. 

It doesn't matter. Harry didn’t even have to ask, Louis would give him anything. Everything, really, like he said he wanted, and this is precisely what keeps Louis awake for the rest of the night.

* * *

He's slept in the same bed with Harry before, probably hundreds of times, but he's never woken up with Harry quite like this.

"Have I got something on my face?"

It's all Louis can think to say after blinking open his eyes and finding Harry staring at him intently.

"Mm," Harry says, nudging closer. He's wearing a ridiculous smile and his hair is a wreck, big chunks of it sticking up in different directions. He looks like a muppet. A big, warm, naked muppet. "A very nice mouth, actually." 

It's instinct for Louis to roll his eyes and bring his hand up, press his palm to Harry's chest when Harry leans in further, but he doesn't use enough pressure to ward off the kiss. He doesn't really even try, if he's being honest. His hand just lies there, stupidly feeling the beat of Harry's heart while Harry kisses him like this is a thing they do now.

Harry's mouth is soft and wet, feels gorgeous against Louis's morning-dry lips. 

"Tasty," Louis mumbles into Harry's mouth, but he doesn't pull away, lets Harry kiss him with sleep-stale breath again and again and again. He's still half-asleep, not quite conscious enough to feel any of the anxiety that had come with last night's kiss; no thinking, no worrying. Just skin and lips and tongue and fingers cupping faces and the occasional helpless smile traded back and forth between them. 

"Stop grinning like that," Louis says, grinning himself. 

"Can't," Harry murmurs against his mouth. 

Louis shakes his head, lets Harry dip down and nuzzle behind his ear. "You're ridiculous," he grumbles, shuddering when Harry sucks gently on his neck. Harry's so good at this, at all of it. 

"Happy," Harry corrects him, and the word is barely more than a breath in Louis's ear but it packs a punch, makes Louis flush all over, makes him wrap his arms around Harry's neck and pull him closer. Harry's still smiling, Louis can feel it against the skin of his throat, only now it's not making Louis want to laugh at him. It's making Louis want to kiss him.

Harry gets there first, always does, lips sliding easily up from Louis's jaw to his mouth and kissing him, soft little sucks that leave Louis hungry for more. He can't help parting his lips, doesn't use his tongue but Harry gets the hint, knows him better than he knows himself. He licks into Louis's mouth with quick stabs, tiny fucks of his tongue that make Louis groan, make his prick start to swell against his thigh. His trackies are soft and loose and he's bare against them, his sticky pants from the night before discarded somewhere on the floor. He shifts around, trying to get himself under control but Harry just hums encouragingly, presses his hips down against Louis's, pinning him to the bed.

"I love how hot you get," Harry says, voice rough. Louis's face burns and he's suddenly tongue-tied, feels like a kid. "Can I—?" The tips of Harry's fingers are dipping under the waistband of his trackies, and Louis's gut tightens on a surge of panic, heart pounding in his chest at the idea of Harry getting a hand on his cock. He needs to pull himself together before this goes any further. He came in his pants just from Harry humping him through his clothes last night. He's not ready to humiliate himself again so soon, even as his body responds greedily to everything Harry does. "Wanna touch you."

"Hang on," Louis says, shifting away in what he hopes in a subtle manner. Harry freezes anyway, and god damn it. Louis is fucking all of this up. "No, hey," Louis soothes, staunchly ignoring the tremor in his own voice. "This is," he falters. This is what? Totally fucking out of control? Making Louis so hard he's dumb from it? "I really need to wee," is he settles on, sheepish. "Morning, and all."

Harry slumps down, laughing into Louis's neck. "Kinky," he jokes, turning to face Louis and bloody hell but his eyes are genuinely twinkling. "Never tried that before but I'm up for it if you are."

Louis rolls his eyes but leans in for a kiss anyway. It's a terrible decision, too easy to fall back into Harry, too tempting to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair and press against him until he's desperate to rut, fingers itching to reach down and touch. He won't, can't when he's got no idea what he's doing, but he lets his hand trail down Harry's side, greedy for all of that soft, hot skin. He pulls back from the kiss and chances a glimpse, eyes catching on Harry's thick cock where it lays against his hip.

His mouth goes wet, his tongue feeling fat and clumsy. He bites his lip and feels Harry watching him but doesn't look away. 

"See what you do to me," Harry rasps, long fingers coming up to circle the crown of his dick and rubbing ever so lightly. Louis stares. Licks his lips and wonders if he could fit all of Harry in his mouth while Harry's other hand traces shapes on Louis's back. Louis wishes Harry would just push him down, take the decision out of his hands. Make Louis suck him off.

His brain crowds with images of that, of sputtering and choking on Harry's cock, mouth drooling and eyes tearing up not with inexperience but because Harry's forcing him to take it, because Harry wants to see him like that.

There's a pained noise, something like a startled whine, and Louis cringes when he realizes it came from him. He pushes himself up, panicked. "I need the loo," he says stupidly, scooting off of the bed and standing, his trackies tented crudely. His cheeks burn when he looks over at Harry to gesture towards the toilet. "I'm gonna," he trails off.

"Yeah, okay," Harry says, chewing on his lip as he watches Louis stumble towards the toilet. 

Louis closes the bathroom door behind him and takes a long minute to stare at himself in the mirror. The skin on his chest and arms is pebbled with goosepimples, his nipples dark and tight. His prick is sticking straight out, poking at the loose material of his trackies and it's obscene. He's never been this turned on before, and from what? Just from kissing? From looking at Harry's dick? From wishing Harry would hold him down and fuck his mouth, oh, _fuck_ yes, from that.

He's not about to jerk off in the bathroom, pulse racing at the idea that Harry might come in to check up on him. Instead he runs a shower, braces himself under the cold water until his body calms the fuck down. 

His dick's gone soft but his head's still reeling as he pats himself dry, pulls on a mostly clean pair of shorts and yesterday's t-shirt from the hamper. He eyes the window, speculative and more than a little hysterical, but, no. Harry's his best mate, Louis can't very well keep running off when things get uncomfortable between them. Especially since things have been getting uncomfortably _good_ , and even Louis isn't thick enough to want to avoid that entirely. It's just that Harry's had plenty of time to get comfortable with what he wants. Harry's had time to play around with a million versions of Louis, not to mention all of the actual real people he's fucked. Louis just needs a little time to get used to it himself.

On the other hand, Louis thinks, blinking at his reflection in the mirror, Harry's also had plenty of time to build up massively high expectations that Louis can never hope to measure up to. Harry likes the bot to take control, assuming that Louis's noisy confidence will extend to the bedroom. Harry's never held the bot down and fucked it like Louis thinks he might, maybe, want to be fucked. Harry conjured up an older, wiser version of Louis and bloody married it, for fuck's sake. Louis's insecurity isn't likely to be a turn-on.

Louis splashes water on his face and runs his wet fingers through his hair. He's never felt so young and, shit. So inadequate.

When he goes back into the bedroom he finds Harry sprawled naked on his duvet, stroking his rather impressive cock like he's getting it ready for—for _Louis_ , jesus. His arsehole screws up tight even as a shock of arousal simmers in his belly.

"Oh," Harry says, slowing his hand when he sees Louis fully dressed. 

Louis laughs nervously, pats his pockets before spotting his communicator on the nightstand. He walks over, slips it on before nodding at Harry's dick where it juts up between his legs. "By all means," he says, trying for nonchalant. "Don't stop on my account."

"No, hey," Harry says, brows pulling together. He lets go of his cock, leaves it to bob obscenely in the air. "It's okay. We don't have to."

"Tell that to your little friend," Louis nods towards Harry's not-at-all-little stiffy. Harry's face brightens for a moment, like even talking about his dick makes him happy. He frames his dick with long fingers and shakes it towards Louis. He's such a teenager. 

Louis looks away, busies himself so that he won't just stare at Harry, naked and hard in his bed. Harry's quiet for a bit as Louis rifles through a suitcase, but there's only so long Louis can keep his eyes down. Harry grins when he catches Louis glancing at him, shyly at first, and then stretching out like a cat when it happens a second time. Louis blushes and turns his back on him, the smug bastard. 

"You know what we should do?" Harry's voice is syrupy slow, aroused. "You should let me eat you out," he says, like it's nothing. He licks his lips. "God, I'd love to get my mouth on your arse."

Louis snorts, laughing even though his stomach has gone tight, nervous. Fucking great. He hadn't even thought about that, about Harry's tongue in his arse, but he'll undoubtedly be wanking himself raw to the idea of it later.

"I knew you were charming," Louis says, dryly. "But that may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."

Harry grins at him, big hand circling the knob of his prick in slow, steady twists. "C'mon," Harry says, "I know you showered." 

"Don't know what you think I get up to in the shower, mate." Louis's ears are burning but his voice is steady.

Harry shrugs easily, still grinning. "Don't care, really. Wouldn't have cared even if you hadn't showered." Louis makes a face at that, and Harry laughs, lets his dick flop down against his thigh. "C'mere. I reckon you taste delicious." 

He's smiling and reaching for Louis and it's all very tempting except for how Louis is bizarrely and completely aware of his own arsehole at the moment. "I certainly wouldn't know," he sniffs. "But if I had to guess, I'd wager my arse tastes like arse."

"S'just skin," Harry says, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. "Haven't you ever tried it?" He's intently focused on Louis in a way that makes Louis's skin itch.

"Can't say I've had many offers," Louis says, like they're discussing the weather. Like that's even a fair question when Harry's had ten times the sex that Louis has, and his own personal fucktoy to boot. 

"Oh man," Harry says, scooting forward on the bed a bit, interested. "Never? You're gonna love it. I'll—you'll see. I'll get you good and wet." He pats a spot on the bed next to where he's sitting, eager.

Louis frowns, confused for a moment. Right. Wet with spit. "How about you take care of that first," he suggests, gesturing towards Harry's stiffy. 

"It'll work for me," Harry says quickly. Louis raises an eyebrow. "I mean," Harry says, slower now, like he's trying not to sound so desperate, even as the crown of his cock shines with precome. "It'll get me off. Licking you out. For sure."

"So really," Louis says, dragging it out because he has no idea how else to respond to this sort of proposal. "You really just want to get yourself off." 

"Thank goodness you're here," Harry agrees, grinning.

There's no need to ask what Harry would do if he weren't. They both know. 

"Why don't you just use the, you know, the thing?" Louis asks, purposefully vague. He doesn't want to see the look on Harry's face, so he putters around the room, pretending to look for socks. He keeps talking in hopes it will make everything less weird. "Suppose the surfer one has a salty bum, though," he muses, recalling the sun-kissed, wetsuit clad version of himself that Harry seems to like in particular. "Perhaps the bookish one? With the glasses? Very smart. Reckon his bum would be immaculate."

He's careful not to mention the Husband, even though he's noticed that Harry hasn't brought him around recently. None of the other Louises had bothered him as much, but now Louis is left wondering why Harry's lost his taste for that particular model.

"Maybe all of them at once. A veritable buffet of arseholes." He tilts his head at Harry, curious. "Can you do that? Or do you have to choose a favourite?"

Harry sits up and sighs, exasperated. He hooks his foot around Louis's leg and pulls him closer to the bed, settling his hands on Louis's hips and looking up at him with an easy fondness. "You're my favourite," he says simply.

Louis scoffs. "Only not really." Before Harry can protest he clarifies. "Prefer the modified version, yeah?" It comes out sounding sad, maybe a little bitter, and Louis has to back up, put some distance between them. 

"No," Harry says, frowning. He stands up, reaches for Louis, shaking his head. "Hey. No."

"It's fine," Louis says, waving his hand vaguely. He's less comfortable with the way the conversation's turning than he was when they were talking about Harry's tongue in his arsehole. "I get it. It's fantasy."

"It's _you_." 

Louis laughs. He knows he needs to stop himself from giving anything else away but Harry looks so indignant on his behalf that he just can't let it lie. "Yeah?" He holds his arms out to his sides, knows he's nothing like the bot. It's not like he doesn't understand the reasons for every change that Harry's made. "Take a good look. You sure?"

Harry blinks at him, expression darkening. "What? Are you serious?"

Louis lets his hands drop. "I'm just saying, it's not a big deal. You need to get off, don't be a martyr." He rubs a hand over his face. "Use the fucking bot. Make one who's never had his arse licked out either. Give it bloody wings, if that's what you like."

Harry's nostrils flare, and damn it but he's even more attractive when he's being a sullen toddler. "What I like," Harry mutters. "Right. Let's have a look at what I like, okay?"

He taps at his wristband and a moment later there's a third person in the room. An exact replica of Louis, grotty t-shirt and lank hair and all. "Cheers," it says, and Louis's stomach drops.

It's like a punch to the gut, seeing himself in duplicate. The bot's a mess, the first time Louis has ever seen it looking less than heroic. Its pale cheeks and bare feet make it look somehow vulnerable.

"Oh, well done, Harry," Louis says, hoping it's not obvious that he's freaking the fuck out right now. "Really very good." He grabs at the bot's hand without thinking, inspects its bitten-down fingernails. Looks down and sees a mirror image of his feet, crooked toes and all. "Guess you don't need me for anything anymore, do you?"

"Don't be a tit," Harry snaps. "Are you paying attention at all? I mean," he looks away, jaw clenching. "I know you like to pretend you're not watching, but maybe you should open your fucking eyes for once, Louis."

"Ha," Louis huffs before he can stop himself. His face is on fire from being called out, but fuck if he's going to make it any more obvious. He sucks in a breath and holds it, forces himself not to look away from Harry and the damned bot. "Well," he manages after a moment. "I'm bloody watching now, aren't I?"

Out of nowhere, the bot speaks up. "That's what you want?" it asks, Louis's voice and raised eyebrow mimicked perfectly. "To watch?"

"I'm not going to talk to it, Harry," Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest and staring Harry square in the eyes. "But I'm still here, aren't I?"

The silence is loaded before Harry says, "Yeah. Alright." He runs a hand through his hair and Louis marvels at how comfortable Harry is when he's naked, cock hanging heavy between his legs, not fully hard but not fully soft either. The bot's just standing there, and for the first time, Louis wishes he was the one who could control it, make it do something. 

Louis looks away, steps back towards the armchair that faces the bed. He grabs the rumpled clothes that are piled there and drops them on the floor. Sits. Spreads his legs and props one foot up on his knee. "Go on, then. Show us a good time."

Harry huffs, looking put out, but the bot strips off his shirt and pads over to the bed. It's got one knee on the mattress when Harry grabs its arm. He looks over at Louis for a moment before ducking down and kissing the bot fiercely, rougher with the bot than he's ever been in front of Louis. Louis curls his fingers in his own trackies, tries to ignore the lick of heat sizzling through him. 

The bot reaches up, clings to Harry's neck and kisses back, giving as good as it's getting. It looks so small with Harry looming over it, big hands scrawled in its messy hair. Louis's prick feels tender as it starts to swell again, his belly flipping when Harry tugs the bot's hair roughly, making its neck arch as its face tips up further, straining.

It's rather nice to look at, at least at first, but then something changes. The bot gets a second knee on the bed and starts kissing all over Harry's face: his cheeks, his eyebrows, his jaw. It kneels, touches Harry gently, and murmurs quietly in Harry's ear. Harry's expression turns inside-out, the frustrated frown morphing into something different. Something tender. Louis fidgets, watches them kiss softly for a moment longer, uncomfortable.

"I've seen this bit before," he says, probably too loud. Harry blinks over at him, and right. Apparently Harry needed a reminder that he was still in the room. "Skip to the good stuff."

"Oi," the bot says, putting its hands on its hips. "D'you mind?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "Still not talking to it."

"Still talking, though," Harry says, shooting Louis a pointed look. Louis wants to stick his tongue out at him, but he doesn't. Eventually Harry turns back, looks into the bot's eyes. "Alright," he says, voice breaking, "I—you know I—I'm really into you."

Oh, bloody touché. "Harry," Louis starts, but then Harry drops his head again, shaking it. 

"I'm talking to _him_ ," he says, annoyed. "You are honestly so bad at watching. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Not if you're going to bore me to death," Louis grumbles. "This isn't even softcore."

" _Louis_ ," Harry says again, nodding exaggeratedly at the bot. "Despite the fact that you're a total knob, I fancy you quite a lot."

"Amazing, that," the bot says, smirking. 

That's—fucked up, really. Sure the bot's been wearing Louis's face for months, likely longer, but Harry's never called it by Louis's name. Not in front of him. 

"Alright," Louis complains. "Is there a point to this?"

"The point is," Harry says to the bot, "that I want very much to make you feel good—"

"That's very kind of you," the bot says cheerily.

"—and you seem to feel good when I kiss you here—" He touches a fingertip to the bot's mouth.

"Very good," the bot agrees, kneeing up closer and putting its arms back around Harry's neck. 

"—so I thought perhaps you might enjoy it if I kissed you—" His hand slides down the bot's back, tugging its shorts down in the back as he slips the same finger between the bot's arsecheeks. "—here."

Louis wants to roll his eyes but he doesn't, can't really move at all. He can't even breathe, watching Harry's thick finger digging in, touching him there. Or, not him. Fuck, this is mad.

"Oh," the bot says, a little breathless. It squirms up against Harry, bulge of its clothed cock pressing firmly against Harry's bare body. 

"Turns you on," Harry says roughly, breathless himself. The bot nods, face going pink even as he clutches tighter to Harry's shoulders. It's bizarre to look at it, to see himself exactly as he'd looked in the mirror minutes ago. There's no glamour to this bot, although Louis is sure he isn't blushing anywhere near as attractively, his face splotchy and hot as he shifts in the chair, parts his legs a bit. "Yeah, me too," Harry mutters. "On your belly for me."

Louis has to cup his own cock protectively when the bot goes down and Harry's left standing, watching. He's rubbing at his mouth like he's hungry, eyes fixed on the curve of the bot's spine, the roundness of its bum. He's hard, and that's—god, Louis is as well, but it's like Harry really _wants_ to do this. "That's it," Harry says, leaning down to fit his hands into the dip of the bot's spine, hook his thumbs in its shorts and slowly, reverently pull them down and off. 

Louis hasn't the slightest clue what his bum looks like from this angle but the bum in front of Harry is genuinely appealing. "Gorgeous," Harry mumbles, dragging his index finger down into the cleft. 

The bot lifts its hips a little, looking back over his shoulder to watch as Harry kisses the backs of his knees and thighs, strong hands massaging every bit of skin he can touch. He ignores its bum, kissing and licking right around it, all the way up to its neck until the bot is squirming and arching under him.

"Oh god," it says, voice reedy and thin. 

Louis presses his palm to his dick, gives himself a good rub when Harry ducks down again, cups his hands over the curve of the bot's bum and opens him up. "Look at you," Harry breathes, sliding the pad of his thumb down into the crease. "Gonna make it so good."

The bot whines when Harry's hand turns over so that he's dragging the tips of two fingers up and pressing in. "Ready, babe?" he asks, turning his head to look over at Louis.

Louis had been distracted, fascinated with the heft of Harry's erection between his legs, so he's rather crudely squeezing his own cock through soft cotton when Harry looks over at him. He doesn't even have the sense to pull his hand back, pretend that he wasn't touching himself. He curls his fingers around the lump of his prick instead, tries to look unaffected. 

Harry's eyes flick down to where Louis is holding himself and he sucks in a breath, surprised. "Shit," he breathes. "Louis."

"Get on with it," Louis says, gruff. 

Harry doesn't, just watches him for a beat too long, making Louis wonder what he's seeing. Fine, so Louis is getting off on this. That's hardly the weirdest thing happening in the room at the moment. Still, Harry's focus makes Louis squirm, makes his dick flex needily in his hand. Eventually Harry drops his head, turns back towards the bot. He's moving too slowly, even as digs his thumbs into the bot's bumcheeks, pulling them apart, like he wants to make sure that Louis can see everything. He ducks down, licking his lips hungrily, and tongues a slow, lazy trail from the bot's arse down to his sac. Swirls his tongue there and sucks. The bot jolts like it's been electrocuted, whole body seizing up as he moans loudly. 

After a bit, Harry stops showing off and seems to lose himself to it. Louis can't really see anything beyond Harry's eyes fluttering closed, his jaw working relentlessly, his stiff prick swaying heavily between his legs.

The sight of it is nothing compared to the _sound_ , wet, smacking mouth noises as Harry works the bot over. Louis slips his hand into his shorts, helpless to it. He's already slick, his cock a drooling mess just from watching. He circles his fingers around the crown, slides the wetness down in a toe-curling drag. 

"Mmm," Harry moans, gripping one of the bot's arsecheeks harshly and spreading him wider. His hips twist jerkily in the air, like he wants to fuck. 

Louis's own hole clenches around nothing, empty. Hungry. He exhales shakily.

When Harry pulls back, his face is shiny wet with saliva, lips flushed dark. "Alright?" He darts a questioning glance at Louis, but he looks wrecked, like he wouldn't stop even if Louis asked him to. There's a trail of spit sliding down onto the sheets.

"Don't stop," the bot whines, but Harry keeps his eyes on Louis, gaze flickering between Louis's face and his hand. Louis slumps back in the chair, resting his head back so that he can catch his breath. He can feel his orgasm curling in him, muscles tensing up slowly all through his back and legs. He tries to breathe slowly, slow it down.

"Turn over," Harry says, voice raspy. "Knees up for me, babe. That's it." 

Louis closes his eyes. He's so turned on he can't even watch. 

"Good?" he hears Harry ask, and he's already nodding when he hears the bot moan, "So good."

"You gonna come?" Harry rumbles, slurring slightly. "Go on and wank for me." 

It's for Louis's benefit, obviously. Harry doesn't have to tell the bot to do anything, not out loud, but Harry seems to know that Louis needs to hear it. Maybe Harry knows exactly what he wants.

When Louis is able to look next, Harry's curled over the bot, kneeling over him on the bed. His face is buried in the bot's arse, big hands pinning its knees to his chest, hand between his own legs, stroking his cock in quick, rabbity bursts. Louis can't tear his eyes away from the thick weight of Harry's dick. He's so hard, so bloody _big_. It's so easy to imagine him sliding up and pressing his fat cock right there, popping the knob inside and then scrawling in, dicking the bot in stuttered thrusts.

"Fuck, okay. Stop," Louis manages to get out, breathing hard. He wants to see that. The tongue thing is, jesus, it's hot but Louis wants to _see_. 

Harry tenses up but keeps at it, hips rolling into nothing, humming and wanking himself faster, pressing his face in deeper. He must have heard because the bot whimpers, shaking his head against the pillows. "No, no. Don't stop."

"Christ," Louis chokes out as he tightens his grip on his dick, wanking in earnest now. His basketball shorts are plenty loose for him to get off in, but he tugs his cock out anyway, pushing the waist of his shorts down under his balls. He doesn't even realize he'd said anything out loud until Harry pulls back fast, searching Louis out, eyes wide and concerned.

"Too much?" Harry pants, wiping at his jaw. His dick is flushed dark and swollen tight like he's close, nearly ready to shoot. His hair is sticking up, wild. 

Louis wants the bot gone. Louis wants Harry all over _him_. He wants to see Harry use that cock of his, wants to see him fuck. Just thinking about it makes heat surge in him, makes him give a few good, slow, hard pulls on his cock, even as Harry watches, riveted. The intensity of his focus just riles Louis up more, makes him want to come so much it aches. "Just—put it in him," Louis rasps.

Harry's eyes flutter closed for a moment, long fingers tightening in a ring around the base of his cock. "You want that?"

"Pretty sure _you_ want that," Louis says. "Don't you?"

"Yes," Harry answers, shaky. "God, yes. Okay." He knees up to the bed again, pushing the bot's knees open wide, arranging him so that Louis has a better view. He slips his fingers down beneath the bot's bum, thumbing the crease then sliding back up and wiggling the tip of his index finger inside. A moment later he's pushing the bot's legs up further and pursing his lips until a long dribble of saliva puddles in its crack. He rubs it around with the pads of his fingers, circling and dipping in and out, in and out. 

The bot moans, breathy and hot. Louis's entire body is burning up. "No offense, mate, but I think you're well covered off on the foreplay." It's an effort to get the words out but he manages, desperate to speed Harry along.

"He likes a bit of fingering," Harry says, not even looking up. He's staring at the bot's arse hungrily, stripping his cock as his other hand works, steady.

" _It_ is a figment of your imagination," Louis bites out, too turned on and annoyed. "It likes what you make it like."

Harry gives a tiny irritated huff and looks over at Louis, holds his gaze as he slowly slides a second finger into the bot's arse. "I like fingering," he says, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

Louis swallows thickly. He clears his throat, watches Harry scissor his long fingers in the bot's arse, carefully stretching him like it matters. "You two are so perfect for each other," he says. "Wake me up when you get to it?"

Harry exhales longsufferingly. "Something tells me you'll still be paying attention," he grumbles, but he presses the bot's knees to its chest and lines himself up, tapping the knob of his prick at the bot's hole. "Ready?"

The bot lifts its arms, beckoning. Harry bends over him and kisses him, their mouths catching and dragging together softly.

"For fuck's sake, Harry—"

He's cut off by the bot's loud moan when Harry starts to fuck his way inside. Louis can't keep himself from leaning forward in the chair, perching on the edge of the cushion to get a better look. 

The bot keeps moaning but Louis ignores it entirely, focused solely on Harry. On watching Harry fuck. He's hunched over the bed, stomach muscles clenched up tight and arms flexing as he rocks forward with tiny little shoves. The skin of his back is smooth and pale and slightly damp and his brow is furrowed, concentrating intensely. His hips shift and roll, restless, like he's trying to stay controlled, but the hair at his temples is sweaty and his eyes keep fluttering closed, like he wants to chase that good feeling, fuck in nice and hard and long.

Louis spreads his legs a bit more, his hips skating up against his hand in uncontrolled bursts. Harry looks so bloody hot, head hanging down, mouth open, slack with pleasure. His shoulders are tense, weight bearing down on the bot's chest and legs, his balls heavy and full. He keeps making these low grunts, fucking primal, and his dick is spearing in and out of the bot's arse like a piston. Louis starts to feel lightheaded. 

"Shit," he breathes, barely more than a whisper, but Harry falters and darts a glance over at him even as he dicks back inside. Their eyes catch for a moment and it ratchets everything up, being able to look right into Harry's eyes while he fucks. "Yeah," he says, loud enough for Harry to hear, "do it hard."

Harry's eyes skitter away, back down to the bot as he curls his hands around its hips and dicks in deep, arse clenching as he punches in. Louis loves to watch him like this, wants to see him get off, maybe watch him cream right up the bot's back, but he hates to lose Harry's focus. 

"You like it, don't you?" Harry pants, hips twitching as he drags his thick cock back out, unsteady this time. Louis's cheeks go hot with shame, caught out. "Take it so well."

It sounds like Harry's saying it to _him_ , and the idea that maybe he is makes Louis's dick flex in his palm, kick out a dribble of precome. His orgasm is too close, riding just under the surface of his skin so he can feel it buzzing in the arches of his feet and the backs of his thighs. Taking a deep breath, he slows the tugs on his cock and traces his fingers of his free hand lightly into the dip of his arse, fingertips catching as he presses there. Each touch sends jolts to his dick, makes him hiss through his teeth with how good it is.

Harry steps up the pace of his thrusts, groaning quietly as he pounds into the bot. _Yeah,_ Louis thinks dazedly as the pressure builds in him, _fuck me_.

The thought snaps through him like a rubber band and for a fleeting moment he aches for it, wants Harry to fuck him as ruthlessly as he's fucking that bot now. "Fuck me, oh god," he breathes, unable to keep it in as he starts to shoot off into the cup of his palm. His back arches sharply as his orgasm thunders through him, unstoppable. It's horrifyingly intense, pulling a cry out of his throat as he writhes in the chair and slicks up his fingers.

"Shit," Harry swears, staring wide-eyed at Louis, his chest heaving and flushed. Everything is weirdly suspended, the bot apparently frozen while Harry watches Louis seize up, his orgasm still shocking through him. " _Shit_ , Louis." 

Louis can barely keep his eyes open, pulse pounding in his ears. He gradually loosens his hold on his cock, his whole body going boneless, come smearing on his hip, leaking through his fingers. 

He's a mess, can't even think. He's so fucked over Harry and Harry is—

Harry is on the floor, knee-walking over to Louis. Louis is too confused and fuck-dumb to panic.

"Where'd it go?" Louis rasps, voice barely more than a whisper. The bot's gone, and Harry's naked on the floor in front of him, clearly desperate to come. "Why'd you stop?"

Harry's face is splotchy-red and hot to the touch. Louis can feel the heat soak through his jeans when Harry leans against him. 

"S'not the same," Harry whimpers, nudging closer, spreading Louis's legs open wider with his weight. He's sat at Louis's feet and he's wanking. Louis can feel how his body shakes with it, can hear his breath stutter. "Please," he whispers.

Louis locks up. He can't mean—

"Please, I—" Harry mouths at the inside of Louis's knee, rubbing his face on Louis's skin. Louis shifts his leg, tries to get Harry to look up at him but he's so caught up in it, buries his face into the skin of Louis's thigh. "Can you touch me?" 

Louis drops a hand into Harry's hair, helpless. He strokes through his hair, damp now with sweat, not knowing what else to do. Harry's wanking himself off furiously now, fist blurring on his cock, but his face looks pinched, like he needs something more. Like he needs Louis and fuck it all but Louis is useless, can't he see that? He can't give Harry what he needs. "You came," Harry pants. "You watched and you, you got off, fuck."

Louis's fingers tighten, snagging on Harry's curls and he winces, not sure if he's supposed to say something, or what he even could say to that. It's the truth. He'd watched Harry and he'd creamed himself like a teenager.

Harry mewls and pushes his face against Louis's leg, inhaling sharply and then holding his breath for a beat, then another. He makes a tiny little _nngh_ noise and then he exhales loud and fast as he comes over the cuff of his fist.

Louis holds him, fingers twisted in Harry's hair, as he shakes through it. Harry clings to his leg, breathing hard. They're quiet for a moment, until Harry grabs one of Louis's old t-shirts that had been pushed to the floor and mumbles, "I'll wash it," before using it to wipe his sticky hand and cock. 

"Would have been less messy if you'd finished off with Super Me," Louis says. His voice sounds fucked out and slow. Frankly he's not even certain he's capable of coherent thoughts right now, but he's got come drying all over his hand and he can’t keep _thinking_ about that so he has to say something. Anything. "Reckon he'd have licked you clean."

Harry pauses, blinking up at him. Louis's cheeks go hot. He steels himself for another cringe-inducing round of reassurances about how it's him that Harry wants, but Harry just tosses the t-shirt aside and holds up his hand, wiggling two fingers. Says, "I think there's some left here, if that's what you're hinting at." 

Louis slaps away Harry's hand, pretends to laugh it off even as he pictures it, mouth going wet for the taste of Harry's come. Banter, he can handle. "See?" he jokes. "Can't tell me apart from that thing."

Harry sighs, resting his chin on Louis's knee. Looks up at Louis with tired eyes. "No chance. S'not the same, I told you. Not even close." 

Louis has to look away at that, keeps petting him so Harry won't notice how awkward he's being. "Looked the same," he says, hating himself for fishing. "Sounded the same." 

He regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He waits for Harry to say something cheeky, ask him if he moans like the bot when he's getting his arse pounded, but Harry just closes his eyes, shakes his head ever so slightly. "You don't understand."

"Of course I don't," Louis says. "Never fucked an imaginary friend before." 

"Haven't needed to, have you?"

Louis tenses up, hopes Harry can't feel it. "Haven't had one." 

Harry frowns, eyes fluttering open, and Louis immediately wants to take it back. It's just that now that he's said it Louis can't stop thinking about it. It could solve everything. Give Louis a chance to fuck around a little without the weight of Harry's expectations. Give him some _practice_ , so that he'd be good for Harry when they—if they ended up together. 

Louis leans back in the chair again and looks at the ceiling. Cups his hand around Harry's head and thinks about the things he could do with a bot version of him. Thinks about how he'd make it hold him down and fuck all the quick come out of him, work him over so that he can hold off longer. Make it count. Louis wants that so bad he can taste it.

"Not sure why you'd want one, though," Harry says, sounding uncertain. "I mean, I only used mine because I couldn't have this." He makes a vague gesture with one hand. "Before."

Louis blinks. Focuses back in on the Harry that's curled up at his feet, looking unaccountably small. The Harry who wants to fuck him and kiss him and who thinks he has _this_ with Louis, whatever this is.

"It's not," Louis stutters, "I don't _need_ it. You're the one who said I didn't get it."

Harry opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but then visibly stops himself. He looks at Louis for longer than is comfortable, must see something on his face because moments later he unfastens his wristband and holds it out to Louis. His eyes are bright but he looks unsettled, and Louis can't really blame him.

"Cheers," Louis says, taking the device and pocketing it with sweaty hands. 

Harry doesn't say anything. He scoots back a bit, flops back against the end of the bed, tugging the duvet over his long body. Louis's leg feels cold where Harry was pressing against them. He's only moved an arm's length away but all of a sudden the distance between them seems much bigger than that. He can't read the expression on Harry's face. Harry looks up at him, seems to notice Louis watching him. His throat bobs as he swallows. "Do you, uh," he starts, breaking the loaded silence, "want me to show you how to use it?"

"I'm sure I can figure it out." He's not like Harry, doesn't need to conjure up some perfect boyfriend to adore. He just wants to sort out the sex, and that's not something he wants Harry to give him a tutorial on.

"The important part is to focus," Harry says, ignoring him entirely. "Just focus on who you want, imagine them being there with you—"

"Anyone?" Louis interjects. He can't talk to Harry about—well, Harry. "Like, if I wanted Selena Gomez dressed like Lara Croft Tomb Raider, I could do that?"

Harry's looks away, jaw clenched. "You'll figure it out," he says, petulant.

Yes, Louis thinks. He will.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not, in fact, the end.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://mediaville.tumblr.com/).


End file.
